


Triple Swing

by interabang



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Dance fighting, Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interabang/pseuds/interabang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a night out, Peter invites Gamora to dance and she starts to enjoy it - especially when they're interrupted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triple Swing

**Author's Note:**

> The physics of this are a mess, so let's just say Gamora's boots have an anti-gravity mode.

“They’re playing it? Oh, they’re actually playing – I haven’t heard this one in _years_.”

Gamora looks up from the drink she’s holding, her puzzlement already shifting to annoyance and amusement. Which is usually how she feels around Peter. 

They had entered the surprisingly large bar not five minutes ago, and Gamora hasn’t liked it since they stepped foot inside the dark, dusty structure. She can still sense all the patrons watching them. The only reason they’re here is because Quill heard that they play Terran music, and the other three Guardians had clearly declined to indulge him. Never having considered herself a gambler – Gamora knows the odds are always stacked against the Guardians – she'd told Drax, Rocket, and Groot to go to the casino while she keeps an eye on Peter.

She's already starting to regret this. 

Swaying his hips from side to side, Peter does a half-twirl and holds his hand out to Gamora.

“Dance floor’s empty.”

“No, it’s not.” Gamora sips her drink without looking up.

Peter snorts, sounding exasperated and a little impressed. “Okay, _aside_ from the drunk guy passed out behind me and taking up the back corner, it’s empty. Shame to see all that space go to waste...” He bows his head a little and Gamora hides her mouth behind her glass, smiling despite herself.

It's not that she has no interest in dancing. She actually likes the melodies that emanate from Quill's strange, primitive data drives. They make her feel...

That's just it. They make her _feel_ again.

Slowly, Gamora sets her drink down before taking Peter's hand, and she enjoys watching surprise play out on his face. To his credit, he schools his expression quickly and gently pulls her out of her stool. She follows him the short distance to the dance floor, and for a moment, she lets the rhythm wash over her, letting herself go halfway idle as she remembers what Peter had told her once, after Xandar, when he'd caught her swaying to his mother's gift:

_See the thing about it is, you let the music take you where you want to go._

It seems simple enough. As Peter raises his arm and whirls Gamora around, she closes her eyes to the dim lights, to the unpleasant patrons glaring at them, and when she opens her eyes again, she’s in Peter’s arms. He's bending her backwards, and grinning widely. She starts to as well. 

When Peter looks into her eyes, Gamora notices the curl of his hair, and something else... _curious_ happens then. Something that feels like a flutter deep inside her. It has a similar effect on her that his music does. 

Quill blinks, and time seems to slow down as he lifts Gamora so she’s standing completely upright again. He opens his mouth as if to say something - something that will likely ruin one of their rare pleasant moments.

And then his eyes widen, his brows turn down as he shifts to the side. 

“Gamora, watch out!”

He yanks her by her arm a couple of steps to her left, his right. Gasping, Gamora watches as a figure careens right past them, brandishing knives that were supposed to skewer her right through her torso.

Gamora is only startled for a second or two, but her instincts take over, her mind slides on autopilot. She kicks out at her would-be murderer's back, tipping him over so he hits the floor hard.

“Head's up,” Peter says tersely.

“It _is_ up!” she snaps.

“Oh, just —”

Without warning, Peter swings around, still holding onto her arms as another roaring fiend lumbers toward them, clawed hands swiping at the air. Gamora's vision blurs as she's whipped around so Peter can deliver a swift kick right in their new enemy's waist, and he goes flying backward. Catching up with the whirlwind activity, Gamora sees three other large beast-like bar patrons circling around her and Quill, rubbing their knuckles and grinning, two seconds away from taking their turn.

Gamora never thought too much of the whos, whys or hows. As Peter himself said, she was used to just stabbing anything that crossed her path, anything that crossed _her_. But when she turns to exchange a brief look with him, he nods.

This time, she knows the how.

She spins back around, putting her hands into Peter's as she whirls in a small circle. Grasping onto his left hand with her right, she curls her free hand into a fist and smashes it right into #1's face. Then she stomps down on his toes with her heel and a split-second later, jams her elbow back up into his throat. He crashes into a table behind him, and Gamora twirls back to her original position.

She's holding onto both of Peter's hands and she stops to check with him. He doesn't have that dopey grin on his face that sometimes appears around her. He's focused, determined, the way she likes him most, and she tightens her grip on him. 

As she does so, Peter takes a few steps back, holding onto her with equal force, then spreads his muscular legs wide apart and bends down so she can swing right under him, knocking back Beast #2. 

She swings backward and Peter uses her momentum to lift her up to her original stance. When #2 springs back up and stalks toward them, Peter tilts his head to one side so Gamora can headbutt their assailant. 

#2 goes down, and doesn't get back up.

“One more for the road?” Peter asks, that silly sideways smile of his starting up again, and though Gamora doesn't understand his Terran colloquialisms, she understands what he means. 

She's about to nod and dispatch #3, but after a cursory glance to the left, then right, she notices that there's now a circle of angry mercenaries ringed around them, growling and flexing their muscles and bellowing at the two caught in the middle of the small dance floor.

Peter shifts his gaze to look around at all of them too, then at her.

“Gamora, I –” he starts, but she has no time nor need for his sentiment.

“– _No_ ,” she says. “Go left. And don't let go of me, Peter.”

Before he can respond, she pushes him backward and laces her fingers between his, green knuckles set against his white ones.

Then she clenches her grip down on him and pushes against him, lifting her feet and kicking out behind her. 

Her boots hit a chest, and Peter swiftly jerks her to his left. 

As Gamora moves to the side, she first starts _walking_ right across the thugs ringed around them - on their stomachs and upper bodies and shoulders - then when she gets her momentum going and Peter’s actually swinging her around in a circle, she keeps her feet rigid so she smacks each one of them in the side of the face. 

She goes around once when she already feels herself slipping out of Peter's grasp, and all she can see is his strained expression. As she slides out of his hands, he reaches forward and they both lock onto each other's wrists. 

Gamora lets the wind, the cries and moans of the circle around her, her hair rush over her as Peter holds on and her feet thud repeatedly into a dozen heads.

The music is still blaring from the speakers and Gamora can feel it reverberating through her veins, her bones, and something that she hopes is her soul. 

And she begins to _laugh_.

She makes it around about three more times before her feet touch back down, on top of #20's face. She grinds down on it with the heel of her boot, letting go of Peter's wrists as he doubles over, panting, and she realizes she’s breathing heavily too. 

They gaze out at the damage they've done, at all the groaning, wheezing bodies laying in heaps on the floor, and Gamora can see the bar door swinging shut. The bartender has taken off, and only she and Peter are still standing.

“Well…” Peter says as he puts a hand to his side, then walks over a couple of thugs' backs to lift a bottle from behind the bar. “ _That_ was probably the best dance I've ever had.”

Gamora doesn't know what to say to that, at first. She's never had to say anything. All she'd known was death and loss, blood running down her hands, and pain that had been running so deep in her nerves, she’d long since learned to live with it, and eventually became its handler. Its friend. 

But when Peter uncorks the bottle and hands it out to her with a grin, she feels a different flutter again. 

She breathes out some remnants of her previous, full-bodied laugh, and takes the bottle.

“That was the best dance I've had, as well.”

Leveling his gaze at her, Peter says, “That was the _only_ dance you've had. And as it turns out, you're a natural! Now this was fun, and all,” he gestures to all the moaning, crying, and twitching figures below them, “but if we do that again, I'd prefer it without anyone trying to horribly injure or murder us. Should've known it was a mistake to come here. Next time, _you_ pick the bar.”

Nodding, Gamora takes a swig, then passes the bottle to Quill as he steps toward her. “I will, but Peter, this was so invigorating. You still have a lot to show me about dancing.”

He scratches the back of his head after he takes a swig. “Uh, that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge. Like I said before, you just move where the music takes you, and you… _definitely_ did. But next time, no fighting required.” He passes the bottle back to her as they slowly make their way over to the door, heedless of whomever they're using as the floor. 

Gamora can't keep the disappointment out of her expression or voice. “It seems like dancing would feel hollow without it.” 

“It's really isn't. You'll see,” Peter says, ignoring the groans underneath them, “We could try dancing without all the mayhem and bone-crushing next time. Might be better for my upper body, too. Man, my shoulders are gonna be sore for _days_. And my pecs —”

“— You've been saying for a while now that you need more physical training. Combining dance with fighting would fulfill your quota,” Gamora suggests, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Gamora, it's not about a _quota_ , it's about enjoying yourself.” Peter takes the bottle Gamora holds out to him, finishes it off, and tosses it onto a crumpled figure, who groans loudly.

“I did. Thoroughly. And I would keep enjoying myself in the future, if I can use your music and rhythm to beat our opponents senseless.”

Peter sighs, sounding just as annoyed and amused as she usually does. He pushes the bar door open and lets Gamora walk out first. “Okay, then we work our way backwards. Start with the twenty or so goons inside, and eventually one day we won’t attract any other, uh… dance partners.”

“It's you and me, Peter. We will always have new 'partners.' But we'll always be the last ones standing. And dancing,” Gamora adds hopefully.

“ _Now_ you're talking,” Peter replies, letting the door swing shut behind them as the song on the speakers begins to fade.


End file.
